The Crimson Canvas
by JooCieFruIT
Summary: Syaoran Li is a gifted artist and much more. A hero in some eyes and a murderer in others. He is cursed with the ability to bestow death on anyone he paints. So what happens when young, intelligent and beautiful Sakura Kinomoto seeks his divine talent? SS
1. Prologue Part I Syaoran Li

**The Crimson Canvas**

By **JooCieFruIT**

**Prologue Part 1**- Syaoran Li

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Cardcaptor Sakura.

Welcome to my second fan fiction. I just came up with this idea and wanted to at least start the story before school begins. Please review and let me know what you think.

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**Prologue Part 1- Syaoran Li**

His milk chocolate orbs quickly glanced at the elderly woman seated at the table approximately ten feet away. The woman's name was Mina Obana and she was 62 years of age. She was dressed in a lavender day suit and her hair, the color of puffy clouds, was freshly permed from the salon a few blocks away. Mina stared back at him with a small, pert, smile, her hands on the table - the right on the teacup and the left on the saucer beneath it.

The gray curtains were pulled back, allowing light to flood the studio room, setting a tranquil aura. The day was almost ending, the sun a bright orange bulb and the sky streaming with trails of red, pink and purple. The window behind him was opened, allowing a soft breeze to skip through the room and at the same time, cleansing the air of paint fumes. He continued to glance at her, his hands working furiously yet diligently, making sure to include each detail, each speck of emotion alive in her vivid eyes. The eyes of a young spirit which contrasted her physical age.

The man's name was Syaoran Li. And he was an artist. Setting down his brush and he stood back to examine his work. _Wonderful…_ he thought, admiring the beauty of the painting. It was another masterpiece accomplished in a mere two hours.

"It's finished Mrs. Obana." he said to the woman, adding the finishing touch ups. Fluttering with excitement she bumbled over to examine the piece of art, relieved that her stiff position had been broken. He heard her gasp as she laid eyes on the piece, taking in the ravishing effect of his work.

"It's…wonderful…" she said exhaling. Her voice was so light and airy. Syaoran stared as she ran her fingers across the top of the canvas which portrayed the exact painting of her a few seconds earlier- the same smile and every emotion written on her wrinkled face that seemed to jump out from the canvas. Syaoran smiled at the compliment. Mrs. Obana continued this for the next few minutes, speechlessly gawking at image before her.

She loved it. It portrayed her not as the image she saw in the mirror every morning- a seventy year-old woman plagued by old age and rheumatoid arthritis whose heart hung heavy with grief from the loss of a husband and child. A hag so unlike the vigorous woman she used to be, diving headfirst into blue waters and rushing, as fast as her body would permit, to the finish line. A woman who graced the dance floor with her presence, dripping with lavish jewelry and clothing. In two hours, the man before her had managed to turn the clock back almost fifty years transforming her from an obsolete old lady into a twenty year old beauty. He had unleashed the fiery spirit within her, allowing it to come free and be captured one last time.

"Wh-when can I come pick it up?" she asked, her tonality drooping immensely. Syaoran cleared his throat. He had dreaded this moment.

"Anytime in the next three days." he answered her, trying hard to keep a straight face. Even so, he felt his chest tighten as his heart beat a little bit faster. Her pupils quivered slightly as he answered. Then her gaze returned to the canvas.

"Oh..so soon…" she said in a voice just above a whisper. Miho stared at it longingly and Syaoran saw a small tear fall from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away with a crinkled finger which was adorned with a golden ring. She shook her head and turned back to Syaoran.

"Well darling…thank you so much for the painting. I'll come by to get it as soon as I can…uhm-" she fumbled with her purse and pulled out a beige leather wallet. Unzipping it, she handed Syaoran a crisp hundred.

"No ma'am that's quite alright-" he had always felt so culpable when his clients offered to pay him. But then again he did need to eat.

"Hush. Take it." she insisted, pressing it firmly into his callused fingers. Syaoran sighed and accepted the bill, staining it with smears of purple as his fingertips were currently that shade. Miho managed a small smile. She walked back over to the bench near the foot of a window and grabbed her purse, pulling out a few tissues in the process. Syaoran watched as she dabbed her eyes, making her way to the door, the clickety-click of her two inch heels echoing off the walls. She turned back to the young man and whispered another thank you. Syaoran bowed politely in response. Opening the door, he watched her go off. As it shut slowly behind her, he knew she would never come back. None of them ever did.

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Syaoran awoke to a crisp summer morning, the smell of brewing coffee aroused his nostrils. Groaning slightly, he sat upright in his bed which was mainly a beaten up mattress with a pillow and blanket for comfort. Glancing at the old digital clock that sat in the corner next to him, he took note that the green numbers read 8:00 Am. It was time to get back to work.

It wasn't as if the location of his occupation required the mad rush of morning traffic to reach; it was in his own apartment located in a mediocre neighborhood that out skirted that main streets and broad skyscrapers of the Tokyo. The complex was simple. The main door led to the living room and kitchen and to the right was another wooden door which opened way to Syaoran's studio. A gigantic room, at least 30 sq. feet with odd assortments of furniture and curios which included a couch, coffee table, velvet pillows, candles and other little things that often accompanied his clients during the two hour session. The wooden floor was a dark cherry oak and in the middle of the whole room were his art supplies. Canvases, brushes, paints of every shade cluttered together in a sort of castle. The far right corner was his bed which Syaoran was sure to have neatly made by the time work began. In fact, it was what he was doing the very moment his housemate walked in.

"Syaoran. I'm about to leave." said the young woman who's long locks of black and red business suit complimented her beauty.

"Alright. I'll see you later." he said simply to her. She smiled, coffee mug in hand and left, shutting the door behind her.

Her name was Meilin Li and she was Syaoran's cousin. An ambitious woman in her mid twenties, Meilin worked as an accountant for Crystal Glass Company a few blocks away. She was always sort of a mother to Syaoran, taking charge after her father- his uncle- died four years earlier. Life had been tough for the two. Days without food. No money or support as neither were working at the time. They immediately moved into an apartment- the very same one that they were currently in- and survival became the most important thing in their lives. That meant ditching of high school for Syaoran and dropping out college for Meilin. Syaoran often felt pangs of guilt as he watched his cousin come home each night, exhausted, tossing her brown purse aside and opening the freezer to pull out a TV. dinner and pop it in the microwave. He lay in bed listening to the sounds of the microwave, guilty that he was the reason for their current state. Meilin had received a full scholarship to Tokyo University, one of the most prestigious colleges in Japan, for a degree in business. He remembered her face, an expression of pure joy expressed in tears as she received her acceptance letter. How sure she had been of becoming the corporate owner of a colossal company.If only things had been perfect. If only Syaoran hadn't murdered his uncle.

Ever since birth, this six foot two inch being had been categorized along the lines of "special", "gifted" and "blessed". But they could add one more to the descriptions… "cursed". With what you ask? Art. Breathtaking paintings that he produced with a mere paint brush and a few colors. It was art to die for- literally. His talents had been recognized during mid childhood, around the age of seven when sketches of vases, fruit bowls and landscape could no longer be viewed as mere scribbles but rather artistic skills that had the potential of the next Van Gogh. But it came with a twist. Syaoran not only possessed the power of art but also another power that many killed to have. A power that people and kingdoms of all cultures, had fought for from the beginning of time. It was a power that rivaled the gods and of which Syaoran Li could act on anyone he portrayed on a canvas. It was the power of death.

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Part 1 for now. Part 2, "The Cursed Child" will be added shortly followed by Chapter 1. Please press the little blue review button in the left hand corner and tell me what you think! - JooCieFruIT


	2. Prologue Part II The Cursed Child

**The Crimson Canvas**

**Prologue Part 2- The Cursed Child**

**Disclaimer : **If I owned CCS, I wouldn't need to write fan fictions.

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Hey hey and welcome back to the second installment of The Crimson Canvas. Part 2 of the Prologue will go deeper into Syaoran's past and how he came to know about his gift. Thiswill be the last update before school starts so i might not update again for a while.Personally, I was amazed at the number of people who reviewed for Part 1…THANK YOU SOO MUCH! (reviewer responses at the end).

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** Some questions came up about Syaoran's "divine ability" and so I just want to make things clear. Only the people he paints dies…and yes animals do count but Syaoran's more of a "people person" . Think of him as being the "Angel of Death" or "Grim Reaper". Whatever you prefer. And yes, his clients are aware of the consequences and more details will be provided in this update so please read and PLEASE REVIEW.

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**Author's Chatter**: Just wanna let a few things out. Please skip if u have no interest in my life.First off, I spent a WEEK downloading Samurai X Trust and Betrayal which is a MUST for ALL Rurouni Kenshin Fans. (Steven, if you're reading this you have GOT to download it). It combines the perfect amount of action with romance and is just so sad…yeah I cried TT. Haha but any of you RK fans out there have got to see it. Its amazing.

Secondly, I just have to express my disappointment with the Video Music Awards this year. Two words: It SUCKED. The host was Diddy and honestly I wasn't surprised the show went terribly cuz Diddy sucks at hosting. Also, wtf was up with the performances? They were all rap- I don't hate rap but I can't believe that they had like seven rap performances and only like3 rock/pop performances. WTF! And then my disbelief that Gwen Stefani didn't perform and also how Kelly Clarkson won Best Female Video and Best Pop Video when she was so undeserving of it! Gwen's Hollaback Girl as tastefully done and WAY better than Kelly's "Since U been Gone". I swear this show was rigged. I was so pissed off! I stayed up til like, 12:00 watching it. What a disappointment. It was pure s--t. Any readers seen it and feel the same, gimme a holler. Alrite well enough of my bitchin. Onto the story.

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**Prologue Part 2- The Cursed Child **

Syaoran walked into the kitchen, barefoot, clad in gray drawstring pants and a red t-shirt; his pajamas. Yawning, he reached for a mug in the cupboard above the microwave and poured himself a hot cup of coffee. How he savored the bittersweet taste as it rushed through his mouth and down his esophagus warming his entire body. After downing about half the cup, he took a moment to examine the porcelain piece he held in his right hand. It was one that he had created earlier this year. A cream colored texture with little pink flowers- cherry blossoms- etched on the glossy surface. Smiling, he remembered his inspiration. A simple walk through Central Park as these beautiful flowers rained from the trees as abundant as snowflakes during the Christmas season. The cherry blossom was undoubtedly his favorite flower.

A few minutes later, Syaoran found himself mounting the portrait of Mrs. Obana onto the wall of his studio. Stepping back to honor its place on his wall, his eyes drifted to its neighbors. Michiru Hino, Iawao Mastumoto, Shinta Yamazaki… he didn't need the portraits to remember each one. As he stepped back further, the wall seemed to grow boasting its fifty-some masterpieces. They were mostly images of older people - men and women in their late 80's smiling happily all dressed in their most extravagant suits and dresses. It was the paintings of the younger generations that seemed to wring his heart with guilt. One near the center was of a little girl named Rita Sasaki, a cheery girl who desired to become a professional ice skater with one drawback- she was struggling with liver cancer. As Syaoran painted her portrait, he remembered her sweet delicate voice, explaining to him all the treatments she had gone through. Intensive chemotherapy, radiation therapy…and now she had been taken off the "bad medicine" . _I'm getting better…_she had told him as an innocent smile played out on her face, "_ Mommy and the doctor said I could go home now."_. But of course he knew the real truth as did her mother who was silently sobbing in the corner. It was too late for little Rita. The cancer had eaten her alive and her mother had come to him as a last resort so that Rita may pass peacefully. This little four year old had suffered more than Syaoran had in a lifetime. As they left the studio, Rita asked Syaoran to watch the Winter Olympics in a twelve years because "I'll be taking home the gold!" she had exclaimed with enthusiasm. The next week, Syaoran received an invitation to Rita's funeral.

Syaoran had been always choosy about his clients. Glancing at them, he became haunted by their last wishes. All of the ones staring down at him had been ready to move on. To meet their maker. They knew that it was time to go. They were all willing victims of Syaoran's divine talent. And he had succumbed to their wishes, believing that he had helped ease the pain and suffering of the world by at least a little bit. _Where will I go…_ he thought taking another swig of coffee.He was a murderer but yet these people had been willing. He was a hero to them, a savior who put them out of their misery. But was that thought alone enough to atone for the side affects of his gift?

A particular portrait caught his eye. It was one that was etched deep into Syaoran's mind and mostly his heart. A first glance would reveal nothing special. It depicted a man, a woman and four female siblings; a family. Syaoran's family. He remembered the incident well. Shuddering, he took another sip of coffee as the memories began to play in his mind.

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"Syaoran…this is beautiful!" his mother, Yelan, exclaimed gesturing to his newly created sketch of her favorite vase. It was a skinny purple one, with a long neck, complete with intricate gold designs carved into patterns on its skin. Ten-year old Syaoran smiled, proud that he had pleased his mother.

"Mommy…teacher said that we're gonna start a new unit in art school." Syaoran told her, waving a green paper in front of her fair skinned face. She laughed and took it from his small hands. Syaoran watched as her eyes skated across the page, anxious of what her reaction would be.

"It says here that you'll be starting to paint people." she replied, giving him back the paper. "I'm sure you'll do very well." she added with a heart warming grin.

"Teacher says I'm a good student. Look two stars!" he proudly showed her the two golden stickers upon the back of his hand, feeling his face heat with satisfaction as she kissed him and congratulated his accomplishments. She was suddenly struck with a bright idea.

"In fact Syaoran, why don't you practice for the new unit? How about doing a family portrait?" Yelan suggested. Syaoran could have squealed with delight. He was finally beginning to feel like an artist. The boy nodded fervently.

"I would love to Mother!"

The date was set for the following morning. Despite the groans of his older sisters and the grumbling of his father about how late he would be for work, they sat stiffly for the boy as he sketched them, seated on the couch in a relaxed fashion. At first nothing but mere scribbles could be seen and of course the glum expressions of everyone but his mother who had gone to great lengths to persuade the other family members to go through with this.. But then the skewed lines and ovals morphed into faces, eyes, hands, hair…by the end of two hours, he had finished their sketches and was prepared to paint.

"Finally." he remembered his dad grumbling as the middle age man grabbed his coat and dashed through the door muttering about how his boss was gonna kick his " a bad word" . His sisters, far from excited about their younger brother's talent went back to their usual Saturday routine- two hours on the phone, movies and then the mall. It was only Yelan who stayed behind to glimpse at the partially completed painting.

"My, my Little Wolf, you certainly are talented." she remarked examining the to be masterpiece. Syaoran beamed.

"I'll start painting right away!" he declared, opening a red tool box which contained the minimal selection of paints he owned. Whipping out a paintbrush and palette, he began swirling the colors together to create the desired shade. Yelan smiled as she watched her son. Then, as not to disturb his concentration, she sauntered into the kitchen to begin lunch.

And so he painted, sure to stay within the lines of his sketch. It kind of reminded him of how his sisters did their makeup each morning with those "special colored pencils" and lipstick tubes, each straining, mouth opened, as they traced the formation of their lips and eyes. Syaoran worked through lunch, pausing only for a few bites and by two o'clock, he had finished. Sweating, tired, and head aching from concentration, he pompously boasted the painting to his mom, who was the only one around as his sisters had gone and his father was still at work. He remembered Yelan's gasp as she glanced at the painting, her mouth dropping with amazement. She instantly mounted it atop the fireplace in the family room. When the rest of his family came in, exhausted from their day, Yelan was the first to point out Syaoran's talents. He would never forget their expressions- his sisters instantly chattering about a Da Vinci in the family and his father mumbling about selling some of Syaoran's works to help pay the bill. At that moment, Syaoran Li never felt prouder of himself.He could've sworn that he was the happiest ten year old alive.But as many things are in life, it was too good to be true.

The following morning, a small portion on the front page of Tokyo Daily read something along the lines of:

Mystery Murder Occurs!

Mysterious murder takes place at Li resident when all four family members except the youngest, Syaoran Li- age 10- were found dead in their beds. They were discovered by the Syaoran who tried to wake them up from their eternal slumber, unknowing that they were in fact dead. The boy immediately dialed 911 and witha heavy heart, police officers told him what had happened. However, officers are still baffled at the cause of death.

Autopsy revealed that Michael Li, Yelan Li, and their four daughters Feimei, Fuutie, Sheifa, and Fanren seemed to have died peacefully in their sleepby unknown causes but no forms of physical violence waspresent upon the body or poison found in the blood. Further investigations are being ensued.

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Syaoran shuddered as the flashback came to a halt in his mind. He tried another sip of coffee but it offered little help- it was cold.

That memory was certainly the darkest secret of his soul. He had no idea what had happened and neither did the police. The cause of death became "heart failure" as the autopsy revealed nothing more than what it already had. "Their hearts just stopped." the doctor had replied. Of course the most difficult was yet to come. Being only a child that had not even hit puberty, he was immediately given to the closest relative- his Uncle Kenji and his cousin Meilin.

So the life of a ten year old boy drastically changed. Over night, he had become an orphan. Nonetheless,Uncle Kenji became a second father to Syaoran and Meilin, his older sister though they were only apart by a mere three years. Uncle Kenji worked at a lumberyard for minimum wage but the amount of his paycheck was little compared to the amount of his heart. He was a happy man to say the least; always smiling and trying to make the best of things. And at the same time, he suffered from the death his wife who had passed on while giving birth to Meilin. During his years there, Syaoran gave up on art. A few sketches here and there, but nothing deep, nothing passionate. He had lost the one thing an artist found essential. Heart. Syaoran had lost that when his family died. But that all changed one fateful day.

It started when Uncle Kenji came home with a brand new sketch book which was given to Syaoran as a gift. By that time, Syaoran was seventeen years old.

"I remember you being quite the artist my boy," Uncle Kenji had said in the deep, raspy voice he was known for. "Don't want cha to lose that talent. " Syaoran stared blankly at the book in his hand.

"Th-thank you." his seventeen year old self had replied unsure of what to do with his forgotten obsession.

"Say, why don't cha do a picture of me. I'd be happy to sit for you. Yelan had always bragged about how great you were. So lets see it." Uncle Kenji said. Syaoran felt a small pain in his stomach at the thought of his mother. How he missed her…how he missed everyone.

"Sure." Syaoran agreed with a nod of his head. "But I don't have any paints or anything-" Kenji cut him off with the wave of his hand as he gestured to a red toolbox against the wall. Syaoran was instantly reminded of the red tool box that he had owned as a little boy. The one that had keptthe paints that he had treasured so much yethe had recklessly thrown into the the trash bin without so much as a second thought.

"Got that for you too son." Kenji said, obviously pleased with himself, "Now lets try to get this done before dinnertime kay?"

And it was completed as dinnertime rolled around the clock. Syaoran had done his best after seven years of remission, letting loose all the passion and desire he had kept deep within the confinements of his heart. As Uncle Kenji sat on the wooden chair, cigar in hand, Syaoran captured his very image, not just the physique but also the fiery soul that danced in his uncle's eyes. Kenji was speechless as his nephew showed him the finished portrait.

"My god…" Kenji gasped, "This is marvelous…My' boy you gotta lotta talent… its absolutely amazing…" His voice drifted as he walked over to the fireplace. Gently, as if it were a baby, he set it on the mantle and stood back to admire the painting. Syaoran tensed slightly. His mother had done the exact same when he had completed the family portrait. Uncle Kenji turned back and smiled at Syaoran. The last smile that Uncle Kenji would make. For that night, Kenjii age forty-fve fell asleep never to awaken again. And bythe following night,despite the heartwrenching sobs ofMeilin,Syaoran had finally discovered hisgodlike power. Unfortunately, the cost was high; the lives of seven.

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A knock at the door awoke Syaoran from his reminiscing. He glanced at the clock. The green numbers now flashed 9:00 AM. Another client had arrived. Sighing, he pushed the thoughts of his past into the back of his mind as he opened the door. An old man, clad in an extravagant beige suit and shiny black shoes hobbled in with the support of a wooden cane.

"Good Morning Sir, how can I help you?" Syaoran greeted him, offering a hand. The man smiled, his glasses slightly crooked upon his crinkled nose. He answered in a suffocating tone, wheezing slightly between the words.

"Morning Son- I would- like- to have- my portrait painted. And- Ihearyou-are the- best choice in town-." Syaoran helped him into the studio which was prepared for the task; easel propped up, canvas upon it.

A few agreements and small talk were exchanged and the man, Hiro Sakuza, sat comfortably in the chair leaning forward slightly onto his cane. Syaoran picked up a pencil from the cup of sharpened ones. Saying a small prayer, he raised the pencil to the blank canvas and began to draw.

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**Reviewer Responses**: Note- In the event that I do not have much time, I decided only to address those reviewers with questions/concerns/critiques. If you simply wrote "update soon" or "good job", I thank you and have acknowledged you towards the end of this section.

**Fruit is NOT a Dessert**: hey steven. Refer to theImportant Noteat the beginning of the chapter.

**SaKK**: Please refer to theImportant Noteat the beginning of the chapter.

**L.P.B**: You wrote me quite an interesting review and I have to say that you could be right. I got the idea for this story from a story i read a few years agoand yes I have heard of Beyond Belief but I've never seen it….but that is such a strange coincidence…almost creepy. At least we know that this story could actually happen. Lol. Anyways, thanks for the grammar suggestions and I hope you'll continue to read and review. But trust me, from the basic description you gave me of the "Beyond Belief" Story, my ff is coincidentally similar but will definitely not end the same way.

**Belinda**: lol YES! You got me! I LOVE Kodocha. Its one of the cutest, funniest, manga of all time and Miho Obana is damn right talented.

To the rest:** meow-mix23, Broadway Belle, BriAnna, dbzgtfan2004, ka0ri-chan, blah, x0xkaaiix0, Kitty 29**, thank you so much!

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That just about wraps it up. In the next chapter, Chapter 1, Sakura enters the story and well…you'll just have to read and find out. I'll try to update as soon as I can but school begins tomorrow (August 31st, 2005) for me so balancing my life and writing may be difficult. Please feel free to visit my author's profile as well as read my other story titled "The Li Family Affairs" (which you will hopefully find interesting as it is relevant to the Cardcaptor Sakura anime/manga and Not an AU). And of course, please pleasereview! Til then, Ciao- JooCieFruIT.


	3. Chapter 1: Sakura Kinomoto

The Crimson Canvas

Chapter 1: Sakura Kinomoto

By Joocie Fruit

Hey everyone! sorry for the long update but school has been a pain in the ass and i've barely had time to sleep let alone write. I think you to every person who has read and reviewed the prologue and to those who emailed me encouraging me to continue this ff. I was seriously about to stop writing but those of you who pushed me to continue it- thank you. Please read and review...even if its the worst story you've ever read!

End of Prologue Part 2- The cursed Child

"Good Morning Sir, how can I help you?" Syaoran greeted him, offering a hand. The man smiled, his glasses slightly crooked upon his crinkled nose. He answered in a suffocating tone, wheezing slightly between the words.

"Morning Son- I would- like- to have- my portrait painted. And- I hear you-are the- best choice in town-." Syaoran helped him into the studio which was prepared for the task; easel propped up, canvas upon it.

A few agreements and small talk were exchanged and the man, Hiro Sakuza, sat comfortably in the chair leaning forward slightly onto his cane. Syaoran picked up a pencil from the cup of sharpened ones. Saying a small prayer, he raised the pencil to the blank canvas and began to draw.

Chapter 1: Sakura Kinomoto

Sakura Kinomoto stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror. A tired, pale woman stared back. Her auburn hair fell in tresses down her back and complimented the midnight blue gown she donned. Her lips curled into a smile- the smile that she was instructed to execute when the paparazzi attacked with their cameras at her father, Fujitaka Kinomoto- the multi-millionaire owner of Kinomoto Electronics Corporations. Sakura's job was to stand to his left and smile as if her life was impeccable from every aspect.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in…" Sakura answered, her voice trailing off as she began to smooth out her curls. She spritzed a glob of mousse into her palm and ran it through her locks, giving them more volume and flair. It was a maid.

"Miss Kinomoto, your father would requests your presence in the common room immediately." said the young woman, bowing politely.

"Tell him I'll be there in a moment." replied Sakura, sighing. The maid bowed again and left the room shutting the door behind her.

Standing up to her full five foot six inch figure plus the three inch heels that boosted her height, Sakura admired her self once again in the stand in mirror. The gown hugged her slim figure perfectly and its plunging neck line revealed a hint of cleavage. If only she felt as good as she looked.

"Good evening Father." said Sakura as she walked daintily into the room. Fujitaka and Touya were there, waiting for her. She could tell that they were annoyed because she was late, as usual. Fujitaka acknowledged her appearance with a frown.

"All ready to go?" he asked her in a bitter tone. Sakura nodded. Then Fujitaka cleared his throat and Sakura knew it was another mini lecture. She was use to these by now. Her father gave one every time before a company dinner.

"Well then, before we leave let's get some things cleared up." Fujitaka began, "I don't want either of you getting drunk at the party, no sneaking off with some strangers and always be courteous. And oh yes- remember to smile. And don't forget to…" Sakura pretended to listen but in reality, she was worried about her makeup. Was there enough foundation to cover the shadows under her eyes from last night's partying? Fujitaka finished and Touya and Sakura both muttered a "yes". They followed their father out of the room. Although the lecture was suppose to be for the both of them, Sakura couldn't help but feel that Fujitaka's words were aimed at her.

It wasn't as though her life had been a fairytale- it was nothing like that. Her childhood was ridden with memories of poverty, arguments that shook the house, the constant pang of hunger…they had been poor. Fujitaka had yet to strike it rich as a failing inventor and his wife Nadeshiko, was barely getting by with a petty paycheck as an on and off model. When she looked back at it, Sakura realized that her mom could have made it to the top and strutted down runways in Paris or London. But two kids and a family to support ruined dreams like that. However, they were content. Poor, struggling, yet there was a silver lining of happiness. They had family time every now and then. This simple occasion, a picnic at the park or a day at the beach, was what Sakura missed most of the young life. Never again had she felt the same type of bliss than when they were a family.

"Sakura hurry! We're going to be late!" hollered her father. Snatching her purse, she dashed after the two men.

"Yes yes the stocks have been steadily increasing…" Fujitaka said with a fake smile. Sakura rolled her eyes. There was nothing she hated more than to hear her father drone on and on about his big success. She also hated being surrounded by big fat beefy men whom her father called partners and who seemed hungrier for her than the delicious seven course meal that had been planned for the evening. To avoid their stares, she gazed down at her silver plate and jabbed at the meat loaf with her fork. She wasn't very hungry. In fact her head felt like it was on fire. Lately, these migraines were the newest addition to her life. Touya sat beside her chatting excessively with a woman who was definitely out of his league. Yet Touya always had a knack for overachieving. Maybe he would get lucky tonight.

Sakura stood up and excused herself. Her headache was now a constant throbbing paininside her brain. She abruptly went to the restroom to take some pills for her migraine.

She knew her decision not to return to the party would be punishable later but Sakura could care less. She slowly ascended the flight of stairs leading to the roof, carefully lifting up the gown so it wouldn't snag. Twisting the knob, she found herself on top of one of the tallest buildings in Tokyo. To her west, the Tokyo Tower stood tall and erect, a golden trophy of the city. Pulling her coat tightly around her, she took in the scene for a few minutes before reaching into her Louis Vuitton bag and pulling out a cigarette. She put it in her mouth and lit it. Her mind was empty except for one thought. It was April first. Today marked the beginning of her twenty-second year of age. Standing there all alone, the fumes of smoke intoxicating her lungs, was not how she imagined her birthday to be. She had dreamt of a lavish party by the ocean and an enormous bonfire which was to be lit until dawn awakened the world. But what saddened her more was the fact that neither her father nor Touya had remembered. She was a big girl now. And even though Touya's birthday was met with cakes, party and a brand new apartment, Sakura knew that Fujitaka loved Touya more. After all, he was the ideal son. Touya was smart, educated, handsome, and polite, not at all like his failure sister. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sakura tried not to shed the bitter tears that began to form in her eyes. Softly, her lips parted and she began to sing, stopping every now and then to puff her cigarette.

"Happy birthday to me…"

At the end, Sakura closed her eyes and made a wish. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted someone who would love her for who she was. Someone who won't judge her based on her past or compares her to her brother. Tossing the cigarette onto the ground, she stomped on it with her pointed heels, smothering the smoke. She had never felt more alone.

"I got us some groceries today." Meilin said, throwing open a cabinet and shoving in a jar of peanut butter.

"Hmm " was Syaoran's response as he read the morning paper. It was just like Meilin to wake up early and shop for groceries before work.

"Do you have any clients today?" Meilin asked. Syaoran shook his head.

"I cancelled on them. I'm just not in the mood." He replied. Meilin sighed.

"You know Syaoran, it wouldn't hurt if you got a real job," she said, dispensing apples and grapes into the refrigerator. A ruffling of papers was heard as Syaoran set down the paper.

"What are you implying?" he asked.

"I'm implying that you find something else to do besides painting people. At least something with a steady paycheck because these bills aren't paying themselves." Meilin shoved the ice cream into the freezer and looked around for any more food items she had not yet put away. There were none.

"Well, I got work as always. Just lock up if you go anywhere okay?" she said. Syaoran was already back to reading the daily gossip column.

"Yes ma'am." He responded without looking up.

Sakura knew she looked ridiculous. It was eighty-five degrees outside and yet she was bundled in a thick coat and jeans. Her hair was tied up loosely and she wore dark sunglasses to mask her identity.

Today was a special day for Sakura Kinomoto. Not because she felt deathly ill but it was her mother's anniversary. Death anniversary. And religiously, each year at this time, she would ditch school and put her plans on hold to visit Nadeshiko's graveyard. It was like the bonding time which mother and daughter never had. She clutched her purse and ducked into the shabby flower shop at the entrance to the cemetery. The old woman who owned the hut glanced at her disapprovingly and took a sip of her tea from a white mug with a little panda etched into the side. Despite the shambles of the hut, the flowers were magnificent. Choosing a rather colorful assortment of roses, she paid for her purchase and entered the cemetery.

"Well Mother, I'm here again." uttered Sakura quietly to the slab of gray in front of her. She set the flowers down on the grave and knelt down in front of it.

"So how are you…" she said softly although she expected no response. "Dad and Touya are doing an excellent job running the company. You would be proud of them. As for me well…" Sakura's voice drifted off. "I've been-" she searched for the word, "hanging on." Sakura gritted her teeth slightly. "Hanging on" would definitely be an understatement to describe her life the past year. But what was she going to tell her mother? That she had sprouted into a young woman? That she had spent the last year partying instead of working towards that business degree? That she had dropped out of Tokyo University because her grades were failing?

Sighing Sakura felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. There was only one thing to do.

"Forgive me." She muttered to the grave. From her purse she drew out a cigarette and lit it. Smoking had been a common way for her to deal with the shit in her life. Sakura wasn't sure where she had picked up the habit but it was definitely less than a year ago. Her father and Touya were oblivious to her habit and she suspected that the maids knew but none of them had breathed a word to Fujitaka. If they did, it wouldn't have mattered. Sakura was already the black sheep of the family.

Syaoran stood over Uncle's grave.

"Well here I am once again." He said in his mind. For some reason, he felt like visiting today. He felt more accomplished visiting family than sitting at home painting portraits. Syaoran shuddered slightly when he thought of the people here who had sought him for help. Meilin was right, I do need another job, he thought. He stuck his hands in his pocket and stared blankly at the grave in front of him.

It was now April and the weather was perfect. Sunny, bright, and overall very docile. Nothing could ruin the peace except for the awful scent of smoke. Perturbed, Syaoran searched around for the source. It was a young woman clad in a caramel coat and dark blue jeans. Heavy, opaque, sunglasses hid her face from view and her hair was done up in a tidy bun. A cigarette perched between her lips. Syaoran frowned. He was never an advocate of drugs. About half of his clients owed their death to that crap. Trying hard to ignore the fumes, he turned back to his uncle's grave.

But the fumes increased.

"Hey do you-"

She was gone.

_ Good riddance…_ thought Syaoran as he glanced at where she had been a few minutes earlier. He noticed a lump of caramel on the ground. It was her cap. Syaoran pondered whether to just leave it there or go after her.

Sakura walked briskly along the cemented sidewalk. She had finished her cigarette and immediately bid farewell to her mother and left. A migraine found a home in her mind and was worsening with each step she took. In fact she was beginning to hear voices.

"Hey…Hey…HEY!"

Sakura whirled around to find a young man running towards her. She prayed he wasn't some nosy interviewer.

"You left something back there." He said running up to her. In his left hand was her newsboy cap.

"Thank you." She said as he handed her the item. She noticed that despite his shabby clothes, he was quite handsome. His dark brown hair and chestnut colored eyes complimented his robust build which protruded out of the green t-shirt.

"You're welcome." he replied. They stood in silence for a few minutes. Syaoran couldn't help but silently praise her beauty, although masked by clothes and glasses, seemed to radiate. Her auburn hair was his favorite shade of paint and the little complexion that showed was the purest of its kind.

"Well, I gotta go. Thank you." Sakura said again. She turned to leave.

"Wait."

Sakura turned back.

"You should stop smoking. You're increasing your risk for cancer and heart related diseases."

She shot him a quizzical look which could be seen through the glasses.

"Thanks," she said laughing slightly, "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." _What a freak…_ she thought to herself.

Syaoran stood there until she had disappeared out of the gates.

"Whatever Dad! It's not like you understand me anyways!" Sakura shouted. "I'm and adult now I can make my own decisions!"

"You haven't been very wise in that area either! You got kicked out of school, hung out with some fucked up druggies and now-"

"Shut up!" cried Sakura. "I can't take this shit anymore just leave me alone!" she shoved past Fujitaka and climbed up the stairs as he continued to holler at her.

Sakura reached her room and slammed the door shut, blocking out his shouts.

I hate this…I hate life…I hate the whole damn thing… Sakura thought to herself as she let the tears fall. Not that this was anything unusual.

After her mother's death, her father became a workaholic. In a way, it was how Fujitaka coped with his wife's death. Touya and Sakura were left at home most of the time and Sakura remembered how Touya struggled to provide for the both of them. He was only fifteen yet working two jobs and school.Finally, her father struck a deal with some company and they decided to manufacture his designs for a newly improved, longer lasting, light bulb. One thing led to another and soon they were millionaires.

Sakura and Touya were immediately thrown into rich, elite private schools and perhaps that was where the drama began. Touya grew to be the top of his class and was accepted to Tokyo University on a full scholarship. At first Sakura followed her brother's footsteps until her junior year of high school. She had begun to experiment with teen things such as drugs, sex, the usual. And it was fun. More fun than studying for chemistry tests or writing essays analyzing the literature of Hemingway. The partying and late nights eventually landed Sakura a spot in rehab.For six months she was forced to sit and "duscuss her problems" with a group of young adolescents her age. The only thing Sakura learned from that was there were people who were way more screwedup than her.When Sakura finished up her senior year with fairly sufficient grades, she was actually accepted into Tokyo University just like her brother. She later found out that her acceptance was based on a tremendous sum of money donated to the university by her father. But Sakura Kinomoto was in. And once again she dived into a world of drugs and partying. This time however, the consequences were much more severe. She began skipping classes and eventually just not attending classes at all. Furious was the understatement of the century in describing Fujitaka's reaction to his daughter's michief and uncanny ability to bring disgrace to the family. The comparisons between herself and Touya commenced and the arguments grew increasingly violent. Eventually, Touya had to step in or else the whole house would have crumbled to the ground. As for now, Sakura and Fujitaka pretend as though those three months never occurred. When either were asked of it, they answered with silence and an abrupt change in subjects.

So now here I am…thought Sakura miserably as she leaned back against her bedpost…no school, no job, no boyfriend. She reached for the pack on her dresser and lit one.

Boys. Were they not the root of all stress? Yet Sakura couldn't help but smile when she thought of him. Julian. She silently mouthed his name with the lips that had once melted onto his. She could still remember the ocean breeze and how it caressed her hair and her spirits at the same time. The setting sun cast a warm orange glow over herself and Julian. He reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him. Then he told her that he loved her. At that moment, there was nothing in the world that mattered more. A few weeks later, Julian was transferred to America to attend some prestigious university, Yale or something like that. She couldn't quite remember now. She wrote him everyday for abouttwo months but each letter was unanswered. The last she heard, he was with some girl named Elise in America.

Groaning, Sakura forced herself to stop thinking of the past. Julian was gone. Those "i love you"s were just bullshityet she had treated them as priceless artifacts. The time she spent with him, thoughshort and perhaps nothing of value to him, were the best months of her life. Raves were put on hold for romantic dinners and walks on the beach. She had actually stopped smoking for a while.It was crazy how love changes a person. If only he had feltthe same way.Glancing at the clock Sakura realized the night was still young. There was just enough time to grab a cup of coffee from the local shop a few blocks away. Reaching for her gray twilled coat and newsboy cap, she lifted up the window sill and began to scale down the cherry blossom tree outside her window.

Pleasedirect all your comments, questions, and suggestions and or flames to me viz a review, email, or AIM. Thanks. Love always.


	4. Chapter 2: Late Night Coffee

**The Crimson Canvas**

**By JoocieFruit**

**Chapter 2- Late Night Coffee**

**7-10-07**

Update! Finally. Hope you guys like it. I have to be in the right mood to write this since most of it is really dark. At least compared to my other stories. Don't forget to check them out as well. I'm updating everything!

* * *

It was dangerous for a woman to wander the streets of Tokyo this late at night. Yet Sakura couldn't care less. She wasn't alone for misery accompanied her with every step. Walking down the street, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window pane. A pale woman stared back, her gray coat hanging off her shoulders and messy auburn hair shoved carelessly under a cream colored cap. It took her a few minutes to realize that the wretch was her. Sakura forced herself away from that image and continued her stroll until she stepped into the cafe a few blocks away. 

It was a cozy café and Sakura had often sought comfort here on nights such as these. The walls were a pumpkin orange and little tables were planted throughout the room with violet cushioned seats. Being a late hour on a weeknight, it was a quieter than usual as most were already in their beds.

Sakura waited in line to order her coffee, deciding upon a vanilla latte.

"May I take your order?" asked the girl behind the counter. She was slightly older than Sakura and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Uhm…just gimme the vanilla latte." Sakura told her.

"Okay that'll be $3.25" said the girl as she pressed a few buttons on the cash register. Sakura dug into her pockets for her money. It was then that she realized she had left her wallet at home.

"Shit…" she muttered under her breath. The girl gazed at her expectantly. Sakura was about to say "I'll be right back" when she was interrupted.

"She's with me," came a voice from behind. Sakura turned around to see the man from the cemetery earlier today. He donned a thick green jacket over paint splattered jeans. A scarf hung loosely from his neck. He stepped forward.

"Make that two vanilla lattes," he told the girl. She obeyed and he handed her the money.

"Thanks," Sakura said to him as they picked up their drinks from the "pick-up" area. She determinedly avoided his gaze. He shrugged.

"No problem. Coffee is better than cigarettes any day," he said smiling. Sakura laughed and pushed the pack deeper into her pockets.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to a table. Sakura debated for a moment and then nodded.

"Sure, why not?" she answered and flashed him a smile.

He pulled out her chair as she sat down and joined her across the table.

"So," began Sakura sipping her coffee, "What's the chance of meeting a person twice in one day at the right time and place?"

"Just think of me as a heroic civilian." said Syaoran, smiling. He took a sip and extended a hand. "Syaoran Li."

Sakura balanced her coffee in her left hand and her right hand went out to meet his.

"Sakura Kinomoto."

* * *

"So what's a fine lady like you doing out here so late at night? I thought someone of your nature to be working them pick up bars," said Syaoran sarcastically. Sakura laughed nervously and felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Suddenly, she felt awkward, almost ashamed. 

"Nah. That phase of my life basically screwed me over." she replied slowly, taking a sip of her coffee, which was almost drained. She hastened to push the conversation along another path.

"So what do you work as?" Her eyes traveled to his hands which were smeared with paint. Syaoran slowly curled his fingers so she wouldn't contemplate it too much.

"I'm an artist." He replied simply. He continued to gaze at her and saw that although her eyes were partly hidden by the cap, they were a dazzling emerald hue. Her face was oval and a little pale, her features delicate, and her mouth a pale pink as some of the lipstick had rubbed off onto the cup. Their eyes met for a split second before Sakura quickly glanced away.

"Wow, uhm… what do you enjoy painting most?" she asked, trying to be interested in his career of work. Syaoran shrugged, a little flustered himself but vowed not to reveal his secret.

"Just stuff. Anything I guess." He told her. She smiled.

"Maybe you'll paint my portrait one day." She suggested.

"I doubt that. I don't think I'd have the skills to capture your beauty on canvas," he said jokingly.

Sakura just laughed, obviously no novice to flattery. Draining her cup, she realized that her spirits had risen significantly for the past hour. She hardly recalled a time when she had smiled so much. It was odd. Sakura stood up to toss her cup.

"Well I guess I should be leaving. It's getting late," she said to him.

"Well then I guess you should leave," he replied grinning. He stood up as well and they exited the café together. Once outside Sakura turned to him.

"Thanks again. I'll definitely pay you back," she said and was about to walk off when he called her back.

"No problem…hey…you're not thinking of walking home alone are you?"

Sakura stared at him.

"Last time I checked it wasn't illegal…" she said playfully.

"But it's dangerous," he warned.

"I got here alright," Sakura said pointedly.

"Yeah but its nearly midnight now," countered Syaoran.

Sakura frowned slightly. He was beginning to sound like her father.

"Well then, what do you suggest oh wise one?"

"Cab?"

"Oh perfect. Eight bucks fee to drive me three blocks," Sakura said, "I assure you, I can handle the walk."

"I assure you, eight bucks is not a problem."

She walked away hoping he would get the clue. He didn't.

"Fine, don't be surprised ir your body turns up tomorrow in some gutter" Syaoran called after her. He grinned as he saw her pause. Sakura groaned. He wasn't letting her get away. She turned back to him and sighed. Syaoran had already hailed a cab and it pulled up next to the curb. He pulled open the door.

Sakura lazily sauntered over and gave him a defeated look.

"Good night, Sakura," said Syaoran in a childish voice as he closed the door. He handed the cabdriver some money and watched the car drive off. After it rounded a corner, he turned and began his walk home.

Sakura sat there in the dark quietly pondering the event that just occurred. This Syaoran…he was so kind to her. His seemed genuine and his good intentions pushed her to a point where she almost felt ashamed of her past life. Her friends had always said people like Syaoran were social suicide. Yet something about him was alluring.

The cab came to a stop in front of the gates to her family's estate. Sakura pushed these thoughts out of her mind. She'd probably never see him again anyways.

* * *

Syaoran shut the door so loudly that a cry of shock rippled through the air followed by the immediate flicker of lights. 

"Jesus Syaoran! It wouldn't kill you to be quieter!" Meilin shot at him. She appeared to have fallen asleep in the midst of sorting through some papers on the kitchen table.

"Sorry," apologized Syaoran, "I was under the impression that you'd be spending the night at Ray's."

"Yeah I was going to. People who have steady jobs to support themselves and their lazy cousin tend to lack an avid social life," Meilin said sarcastically. She was an entertainment writer for Japan Weekly who hoped to one day land a job at a prestigious women's magazine and judging by her disheveled look, grumpy attitude and empty coffee mug, Syaoran figured that tomorrow was a deadline.

"So uhm, how are you two?" Syaoran said as he began to straighten out some of the newspapers on the coffee table in their living room. Meilin's face had resumed its notorious writing expression which consisted of furrowed brows and excessive pen biting.

"Me and Ray?" she said between bites yet not lifting her head from the paper.

"Yeah."

"We're okay I guess. It helps that we both work for the same paper," she said looking up, "Oh and by the way, there's this thing happening on Friday. I'm due to cover a charity event hosted by the Kinomoto Electronics Company and so Ray and I are attending together."

"Cool. I bet Tom doesn't know."

Tom was Meilin's devil of a boss of whom she had grumbled about so many times that Syaoran felt as though they had met personally.

"No he doesn't. And he won't find out either." she said pointedly, "And because of this event, which I might add calls for formal attire, I ordered a dress from Valentino on 52nd avenue. Could you pick it up for me tomorrow?"

"Sure. What's it look like?"

"It's black."

"Wow. So specific."

"There's a confirmation paper under the phone over there," she motioned to the counter next to the stove, "Just give that to them and you should be fine."

"Valentino eh? Sounds expensive. Two months paychecks?"

"Try five plus some extra savings."

Syaoran let out a low whistle.

"No wonder we can't get out of this hellhole. With you spending hundreds on dresses you wear once…I bet Ray will be impressed," Syaoran added, grinning. Meilin rolled her eyes.

"He better be. In any case, I can't help I'm a woman with costly needs," justified Meilin, "And will you please shut up? In case you haven't noticed, I have a deadline tomorrow."

* * *

Sakura trudged up her front steps and nodded to the security guard, a beefy man of six feet, who let her in. Her heels clacked on the marble floor and broke the silence around her. It seemed that everyone had retired and her midnight escapade had gone unnoticed. When she approached her room however, her personal maid Britney was hastily exiting. 

"Oh Miss Sakura!" the woman cried, suddenly aware of Sakura's presence, "I was about to warn Mr. Kinomoto that you were mis-"

"That won't be necessary. And I'd appreciate it if this had gone unnoticed," Sakura said stepping past her to the door.

"As you wish. And Mr. Kinomoto would like to remind you that a charity event will be taking place this Friday at the city hall and he wishes for you to attend"

"You mean more like order me to attend?"

The maid smiled nervously. Sakura dismissed her and she bowed and departed from the corridor.

Sakura flopped onto her bed and thought of attending yet another party hosted by her oh-so-generous father. For some reason, she knew that he was forcing her to go only because more rumors would circulate if she didn't. Her notorious reputation for partying was haunting her and she was sure that social events would be invitation for hoards of paparazzi.

Her thoughts then drifted to Syaoran. For some reason, she couldn't get him out of her head. It was the little things that touched her the most like him pulling out her chair or paying for her cab. He actually _cared_ about her. _He probably does that to every girl he meets. For all I know, he could be some playboy in disguise,_ she thought quickly though did not convince herself of this theory. Most of the guys she had met wanted one thing and which started with an 's'. That however, seemed to be the last thing on Syaoran's mind. Sakura rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. It wasn't too long before sleep tugged on her eyelids as her mind filled with images of the upcoming event, her mother's grave, Julian and oddly, Syaoran's smile.

* * *

You know what to do. Pleaseee review! It is seriously the one thing that really inpires authors to write more! even if it's criticism!Thanks for all of your support! Love always.

JoocieFruit


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